Hundred
by Storyglory
Summary: Post X3 The mansion is what it is: safehaven to some, a base to others. What matters is that it holds dynamic people under one roof. Under this roof, a hundred dramatic days will unravel; some won't make it without sweat or tears...and for others? Blood.
1. Time

**TIME.**

My alarm went off.

I was as ready as I'd ever be.

"Turn off the damn alarm, Kit-Kat!"

I snickered. Jubilation Lee, on the other hand, wasn't ready. She rarely was. I uncurled my body from fetal position, my legs sliding over the silk material of old pajamas. My eyes fluttered open, my breathing light. It was only light now, in the early day, before the sun had come up. All the other times of the day it came shockingly rapid and hard. It was usually because of my loathed shyness and the perpetual nervousness it produced, or because the fates decided to make my daily schedule a jogging course, making classes or danger room sessions or get-togethers on completely opposite sides of the mansion. But here, in my bed, I cling to the calmness.

First day of school…first day of seniorhood.

Was that a word, I challenged myself. My face snuggles deeper into my down pillow. First day of the best privileges, first day of driver's ed….first day of seeing Remy LeBeau referred to as a professor…first day getting to know everyone. It is the first day of everything; it even seems like the first day of the rest of my life, but not even that is true. I had promised myself last year the day I became an official X-Men__ the day I saved Jimmy and the day I actually got to wear the flattering leather suit outside___that was the first day of the rest of my life. And what a day it was.

I rolled over, biting the inside of my bottom lip. The alarm clock says 5:40. The clock controls just about everything in my life and how long I do whatever I do.

Jubilee lets out another less-than-attractive growl. "Kaaaathhheerriiiinnnnne!"

I smirk and tap the "off" button. I turn my head around my shoulder just in time to see Jubilee sink underneath her covers. It's weird to me that she's a junior now. She should still be thirteen. Well, I want her to be. According to the clock, she should be where she is now…but the clock is so unforgivably objective. I wonder if mom and dad thought the same thing when I sent them my picture last year.

…Nevermind.

I prop myself up on my elbows and stare at the bed frame for a few seconds before pushing myself from my sweet cocoon of blankets. I calculate the time in my head. Two and a half hours. Plenty of time for a jog. I hop up soundlessly and cross the room to go to my dresser. The bottom right drawer holds Jubilee's sweatpants that she keeps there because she insists they don't belong in her "beautiful" closet. "Beautiful" to her is neon and zebra-printed and studded. Things I wouldn't wear dead or alive, but I keep my mouth shut about it and that's why she loves me…and I love her because Jubilee wouldn't be the same without her bright accessories and eccentrically-designed pants. But since sweatpants (from around here anyways) aren't zebra-printed or hot pink, the charcoal gray material is thrown in my heap and I wear it nearly every other day on my jog. Jubilee doesn't know, but she wouldn't care. She only wears sweats to pre-team danger room sessions and how often does she skip those?

About as often as Logan goes to bars.

You do the math.

I hike up my nightgown and tug it over my head, heart-decorated panties immediately hidden by the cotton cloth I pull over them. Next comes the maroon tank top folded on top of the dresser. I slide into it and grab the empty water bottle that was sitting next to it. I spot my running shoes, one half-hidden underneath my bed, one near the door; grab both. The door, slightly unaligned with the hinge because of a childish fight between Jubilee and Tabitha, now makes too much noise when opened. So I phase through, the feeling of being thin as air engulfing me before leaving me alone in the dark hallway. No one should be up at this hour anyway, so it's not all that unexpected.

Well, it wasn't until I smelled coffee halfway down the stairs.

Who drinks coffee? Storm. Hank. Emma. Ms McTaggert. I name them off in my head. Peter drinks coffee too, but he only gets up when he has to. Logan? I don't think Logan drinks coffee. Emma drinks the expensive stuff...with quite the unique smell. This smells nothing like it. Beast would be in his lab at this hour, if even up at all. He has a coffee maker down there. Ms McTaggert would be asleep. So that means….

Storm…and that makes sense.

It's the first day of school after all. She needs to be wide awake, being the new headmistress. My mouth loses its amused upturn. Is she anxious? Why is she up so early? I head for the kitchen. I don't like snooping, but it's not really snooping, is it? I mean, I have to go there to refill my water bottle anyway. I turn the corner that leads into the kitchen and see no one. Storm's mug is in the middle of the table, the one with the cute picture of a cartoon giraffe on it that Jimmy had got her as a present. It was empty.

For a moment, I'm afraid. Then I figure she might have gone somewhere as the coffee is preparing itself. Sure, that's it. I head to the sink to fill up the bottle, hand getting a rude awakening as the cold metal knob tells it good morning. A cool stream patters against the container; I look around nervously, feeling like one of those stupid kids in a horror film. Should I be worried? It isn't completely unheard of for some monster to pop out from nowhere. Some kids here have powers that make bad dreams bad actualities. All of them, from what I know, have learned to control it…but with some new kids showing up for the schoolyear…well, you never know what they can do.

Or if you should be afraid of it.

"Katherine____"

I let out a bark of fear, and twist around, sprinkles of water flying around the room.

Storm stands there, eyes wide. Then the edge of her mouth rises the tiniest bit and instantly I feel stupid. I can stand against psychopaths who can disintegrate any molecular structure and challenge a giant to a game of tag in a quickly collapsing 4-story building. But I freak out when my princi__friend greets me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, letting out a breath of air and an awkward giggle.

"That's fine," she replies, a kind twinkle in her blue orbs, "Good morning."

"Good morning," I say, grinning a tad before turning back around to fill up my water bottle.

"Going for a jog?" she makes small talk. I hear small footfall and imagine her checking the coffee pot.

"Yeah," I respond quietly…then I feel bad for giving such short answers. "I like to run in the mornings. Gets me…prepared."

I feel I sound idiotic. Prepared for what, Katherine, I chastise myself. My head peers over my shoulder to see her pouring the dark brown liquid into her mug.

"Running is always a great way to get some thinking time in," she responds lightly, looking up at me, smiling still.

She runs? Well, maybe she doesn't. Maybe I just imply stuff. But then I've seen her in the Danger Room and remember she can outrun any Olympic athlete, that she grew up in Africa.

I chuckle a little to fill in empty space, "You could probably outrun me," I banter. It had nothing to do with where the subject was going. I turn around to see my water bottle full to the brim and overflowing. I quickly pull it from under the faucet and pour some over the edge before turning the knob back to its normal position.

"I don't know about that…" she murmurs humbly, turning the coffee maker off. But we both know she could outrun me. Me and Bobby and Ms. Braddock and even Logan. That's why all the kids fight over which team she's on at field day. I choose to let the subject go, knowing she'll continue to deny it, and try some other tactic. It feels wrong to just leave and say bye and then not see her again until sixth period.

"Why're you up so early?" I ask lightly, taking a sip of the water meant for jogging just to give my mouth something to do. I peer at her over the bottle, taking in her attire. "Adventure Time with Finn and Jake" pajama pants and a lavender tank top, robe barely hiding the figure she's probably had since God knows when. Storm never seems to age. Socks cover her feet, make her footsteps barely audible. Her short snowy locks are only slightly ruffled. But then there are the dark rings underneath her eyes and the fatigue so evident in her posture. Has she gotten skinnier? Maybe I'm paranoid. Yes, I'm paranoid.

Just mind your business, Katherine.

She shrugs, smirking a tad, "Oh, I get up early every now and again."

In my head, an imaginary announcer says she dodged the question with a perfect "10"

I nod without words or questions or any other conversation-starters in mind. I'd better hop to it anyway…the sun'll come up soon. Then more early risers. Then everyone else. Then I'm not ready and I don't get a warm breakfast.

She must sense my withdrawal. "Well, you better move along if you want to finish your jog and still get a couple winks of sleep," she smirks understandably.

"Oh…yeah," I admit breathily. I don't like people sensing anything I do or plan to do. It doesn't annoy me, but it does catch me off guard, takes up time I didn't plan for it to take. Maybe that's why I'm always so uptight around Logan, I admit mentally to myself. He always knows what's up; he smells it in your breath and hears it in your heartbeat. It should interest me, like it interests Hank, but when the same person is armed with adamantium claws and an explosive temperament, I simply can't get the same enjoyment out of it.

I'm wordless and I hope she doesn't take it personally. I look at her and notice she's staring at the window by my head, above the faucet. The first wisps of sunlight must be gathering behind the trees, I decide. It is a pretty sight. One I'd rather go outside to see. I smirk at her and nod as I pass, but she seems faroff. She comes back to reality once she notices I'm no longer in front of her, once I'm a foot away from the corner that leads me back into invisibility and darkness and time and rapid heartbeats.

"You know, Kitty…just because I'm headmistress now. It doesn't mean we're not still…you know you can always talk to me…" her voice trails off. I'm overcome with guilt in a matter of seconds. Is that how I come off? Aloof? Treating her like a leper because she's in Charles' seat…no, his throne. Acting like one of the more bratty kids who call her heartless and "Ms. Freeze" behind her back. It confuses me how some of them even like Emma more. But that's probably because Emma is a snarky bitch and doesn't mind humiliating any kid who even dares to cough in her direction the wrong way. Her impatience amuses them to some degree. My mouth gets dry. Maybe I even have been a little afraid, sorta. It's bizarre…having someone who you could easily talk to last year now be in control of your GPA and your privileges and your roommate and if you continue to be a part of the X-Men or not. In control of everything. Like time.

"I___I didn't mean for_____" my head shakes and I turn around to see her sipping more coffee and nodding her head slightly behind the mug.

"For me to notice?" she cuts off, but I hear the tone in her voice. The one she'd use when describing Jubilee's latest purchase after driving a few of the lowerclassmen to the mall or was explaining the way scientists predicted the weather while on a field trip.

Purely joking.

I laugh a little, not being able to help it. Rolling my eyes slightly at her mischief and locking mine with hers. With my eyes, I give her the equivalent of a hand-squeeze and turn to walk away.

"Oh, and don't tell anyone about my pajama pants or I'll fail you."

My quiet laughter already bouncing around the room, but when I turn around, her coffee cup is covering her mouth; her eyebrows are raised, daring me. Her face deadly serious as she sips and eyes me all at once.

The only thing betraying her is the slight twinkle in them; illuminating those irises.

I try to hold in my smirk, looking down and nodding my head furiously before entering the hallway.

This schoolyear could be fun.


	2. Lady Luck and The Planets

**LADY LUCK.**

The room smells good, I notice. It's my first day being able to actually take in this room…my room. The boy's dormitory is surprisingly…large. I thought for a school for mutants the place would be small and maybe even kind of ratty. But it's a mansion. A mansion for me; a mansion for mutants. I'm a mutant.

God, I hated that word.

I learned about mutations in biology class years ago. Mutations meant a change in the DNA…for the worst. An uncontrollable, unpredictable alteration synonymous with diseases and people with problems. Why the fuck does everyone think being a mutant is a problem? Or for the worse? What's that about? If society didn't treat us like they did, plotting our doom behind their steely government walls or taking unapproachably passionate stances in school "debates", would our lives be all for the worse? That can't honestly be true. If we started all over again and the first mutant could increase vegetation…and he used it to end world hunger. Now would we be so hated? We'd be hated. But not _so_ hated. We'd be despised because of our power, our all-encompassing godlike abilities. But hating like that is playerhating.

And if you have playerhaters, you're doing something right.

If we…if we what? Went back in time? I roll over underneath my covers; flat on my back.

That's possible, right?

To go back in time? For a mutant, I mean.

I wonder if those who had that ability tried it? I wonder if a self-loathing "mutant" went back in time and tried to stop everything.

I doubt it.

Time travel is so fucking dangerous...Galia had wanted to try and looked what happened to her, I reminded myself. Think, think, think. Don't be stupid. They'll come for you too.

My mouth is trembling a little and I turn back over to my side. My roommate, Santo Vaccarro had only shown up hours ago. He had registered late, but judging by all the people I've seen walk in and out of the front gates today, that's not exactly unusual around here. I was on my bed reading Rolling Stones and he just comes in, flops on the bed and is out just like that. No "hi", no nothin. I guess normal people would be afraid, but whatever he can do can't be as bad as mine. I turned back to the article on Billy Joel, but couldn't regain the same focus. Santo started to snore just as I closed the magazine and I knew there was no going back to reading in here anytime soon. I wrestled the covers from its tucked place under the mattress, being careful not to accidentally yank my gloves off in the process. The last thing I needed was to mess up their bed. And then I went to sleep and dreamed of when Galia dragged me to Coney Island and forced me to buy her cotton candy with that Cheshire cat smile on her face. That wasn't the worst part. The worst part was not being able to eat it with her, lying to her face and telling her I was full. I wanted to suck the sugar off her mouth and wrap my arms around her shoulder like she was my girl. And in the dream, I did. The dream was no longer a memory…now a deep fantasy.

Right when I was certain the first kiss wasn't enough, that I needed more of her…I woke up.

Galia…gone forever…slipped through my fingers.

Fuck everything. Fuck this mutant shit and all that comes with it. I notice I'm sweating and throw the covers off, fury so evident in my movements. I scare myself with this. I calm down. I'm not the evil mutant anymore. I am Kevin. Simple Kevin Ford with his simple, Kevin-like ways. Almost instantly I am back to normal, not genetically different in any way. I am trick-or-treating like every other kid in my neighborhood. I am eating everything I see. I am mouthing Green Day lyrics as I sit in my desk and burn holes into the clock with my eyes, wanting the schoolday to be over. Nothing different. I'm not the psycho kid who killed his dad. I'm not the monster who got kicked out of school. I'm myself…the lie I grew up as. Kevin Ford, the normal kid.

It's kind of sick really. How mutation is sparked by puberty.

Because by then, reality is the nightmare and the life you lived was a dream.

My grandfather used to say Lady Luck was smiling down on me, wanted to give me good things in life. He stuck to that too…even on his deathbed, with criminal me as his only family left…he stuck to believing it was all gonna work out. Maybe that's why everyone loved grandpa so much. He was so optimistic it literally made you nauseated. But the truth was_ and I could never bring myself to say it aloud because what if grandpa heard me in heaven_that grandpa was wrong. He was wrong and I was wrong for continuing to consume his lies, even when paint would disappear off the walls in my sleep and even when I ruined Mick's birthday gift by "grabbing it too hard."

I thought maybe Lady Luck was just having some fun with me, just fucking with my paranoia. But now I know.

Lady Luck is a bitch and she wants us all to fail.

…That's why Galia's gone.

**THE PLANETS.**

The day is full of unfulfilled promises. The leaves are slightly blowing. The air around here is crisp and cutthroat. Absolutely nothing like San Diego. I can feel my mind wander as I prepare for the first day of school. It's so odd and somehow unappealing. Eight months on the streets and the education system is the farthest thing from your mind. The future isn't, of course…but never before have these two topics, usually lovers, felt so far apart and unrelated to each other. My entire life used to be based off of my GPA. Now it's based off of what I've survived and the friends I've lost. It's a testimony to the games I played and the games I'll continue to play as long as I'm on the move like this.

Since when do I want to start settling down?

_Since never…since now._

The voice inside my head can't any more raw than that.

I miss Chase. I noticed this minutely last night. We used to sleep next to each other in the hideout…in sleeping bags of course. We would just stare at the ceiling and talk about the planets. He liked planets a lot. The conversations always stayed the same, but the gestures and tones and hopes riveting through our voices…they always seems to change. What planet we talked about usually depended on how we were feeling. Or most times, what Chase was feeling. Because I enjoyed biology more than anything and I couldn't get into it enough to give a personal opinion. But I did like Saturn…just because it had a ring. Chase picked up on that early enough and whenever he wasn't spewing off facts about Mars to hide his frustration at Molly, or discussing why Pluto was no longer a planet to cover up his forlorn for his parents, Saturn was always the best subject.

But now he's not here. He's in the boy's dorm room.

I wonder if this was a good decision.

Coming to this school.

Were we really safe?

"No." Or, at least, that was the answer of Bobby Soul, some kid and his mute little brother that I had met in the line for class schedules.

"But would you rather be not safe here…or not safe on the streets?"

Damn. That just hit home. I thought about it for the rest of the day. This place was spacious; it was stocked with food, medical equipment, and knowledgeable people. It was better than the place I had back home, or, whatever the hell I had had back home.

And now I was going back to high school and aiming toward a diploma. It feels weird, coming back to school. I hated school when I was there. It was just a whole bunch of unintelligent, superficial nincompoops running around, stealing, and vandalizing. There was nothing even slightly fun about the experience, contrary to popular belief. They say in college, you learn how to become an adult, but that's a load of bullshit. You're molded into who you are in high school, make or break.

My senses whirl to life as I notice the alarm clock in the corner of the room go off, the one next to my roommate's bed. Callie. I had no fucking idea what she could do, but as she turned the alarm clock on snooze and covered her bedhead with lime green sheets, I wondered if she knew I was awake.

A snore came from her direction. Probably not.

I want to go back to bed, honest I do…but it's really no use. I slip my feet from my baggie socks, entangled in the edge rumpled sheets below me. My feet are stung by the cold as I put them on the ground. I might as well take advantage of an empty shower.

My clothes are already on the edge of my own dresser, beckoning me to begin the day. I grab a bright blue washcloth and matching towel from the small closet next to my bed. I turn around to eye my roommates one last time. They're too caught up in their dreams.

My finger hits the switch, bringing the lights to life.

Callie shifts a little underneath her covers. Did I wake her?

Bright yellow energy spills from the doorway, illuminating the dark bedroom.

Callie murmurs a little…goes back to sleep.

I look down at my bare toes before closing the door on them.

No takers?

Callie snores again.

No takers.


	3. Quick Fix

**Quick Fix.**

The school is just the way I left it on the outside. But I know it's changed on the inside.

My heart is acting like I just ran a marathon.

Is Logan still here?

I look at the person in the front seat. He's waiting for me to get out…get out and never see him again.

"So…I guess I'll see you at Christmastime…Marie?"

"I guess."

My hands are now able to tap his bare shoulder without him getting a scratch. He turns around, his oily face nearly expressionless. My lips scrunch together just the tiniest bit, I learn forward ever so slightly. My skin touches his; no agonizing pain on his part…no agonizing memories on mine.

He responds with a cordial smile; nothing warm or fatherly about it all.

"See ya."

The violet duffel bag is waiting in the seat behind me. I tug it towards me with left hand and open the car door with my right. A gentle wave of warm air greets me. In the car, I'm Marie. Here, I am Rogue.

My new black boots make little clicks of noise against the perfect pavement. The building ahead whispers of kindness and understanding, safety and grace. It whispers the same message the Professor always had waiting for us in his Ethics classes. The mansion was Professor Xavier's soul, all of his plans and cornerstones for world peace were evident in each brick.

I couldn't decide what season flattered the mansion more. Autumn made everything seem homey. The leaves decorated the acres of land, making the tall structure seem knowing…like it held everyone's secrets and pasts. The winter made the mansion look like the haven it was. Outside, the sky cranked snow from its womb and on the inside, the mansion was warm with smells of cinnamon perfume, dusty ornaments and gingerbread. Mrs. Grey's gingerbread was the best.

Forlorn crushes my ribs, makes my breath hiccup.

I'm almost past the gate. The boots make me walk slower, but I'm in no rush to greet anyone in the building. Except maybe Logan…and even that doesn't make me hasten my steps.

Maybe the spring was best; Storm was generally in a brighter mood around spring. The trees were always the perfect shade of green, the sun was always peeking through the clouds, spying on the mutants playing tag and capture the flag below, occasionally making it hotter on one side of the mansion, like it was picking sides. And then there was summer, which keyed in on the historical look of the mansion. Mostly because the summer emptiness made it______

"You new here?"

My thoughts were interrupted by some unrecognizable voice.

I turn my head to see a kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen, sitting up against an oak tree. He has dazzling eyes…a green that could go head to head with any emerald. His face was structured…manly. He wore charcoal skinny jeans..and that's when I stopped really caring.

I hate guys who wear skinny jeans.

"Something like that," I reply, my words entangling themselves on my tongue. I realize just how long it's been since I've held a conversation with a mutant. But then I feel a little bad for even thinking like that. I was just one of them a couple months ago. I wouldn't be here if I weren't.

He must have caught on to my hesitance. His chin juts upward, shaggy jet black locks covering his eyes. He looks almost defiant; almost rebellious. But there's that insecurity there. It's not supposed to show like that…but I see it and to me it's as evident as a neon sign. I turn around to lock the gate like Hank had reminded me to before leaving. I watched as the guy changed positions. Maybe to some people it would've looked like he was trying to get comfortable, but I noticed he was pressing himself further up against the tree…like he didn't want me near him. My eyes began to water. The entire reason I got the damn cure was so that people would just treat me like normal. How am I ever supposed to be normal when everyone else went around the mansion while I was gone and told people to treat me like a leper?

After I'm sure the security code on the gate has been set properly, I turn around to look at him. The coolness rolling off of my stare should become something I am ashamed of; something I learned better not to do. I don't recognize this kid so I know he must be new…he doesn't understand mutants should band together and help each other and not treat each other with disgust or fear. But then he has to be at least sixteen. He has to know to act his age. And now he's acting like a bastard.

I grab my bag a little tighter, feeling my hands turning red without even having to look at them.

"You might wanna hurry, kid. You'll be late for class," I mutter.

The sudden tone of disinterest hits him hard and his head turns to the side a little. He must hate me now.

I climb the few cobblestone steps leading to the French doors of the mansion. Each step I climbed, the less the mansion began to feel like home. The more it felt like a place I didn't belong. I had worried about that feeling springing up on me when I least expected it. And here it was. Teasing me right as I had my hand on the doorknob.

So are you going to open it, Rogue? The voice in my head seems menacing, but then it never stops telling the truth either. A guide with a liar's attitude.

I open the door.

I regret everything the moment I do.

The feeling I only imagined feeling is like spilt milk. And milk never rewinds itself back into the glass. I can't rewind the Cure, I can't rewind the years of fearing the decisions…I can't rewind the fact that I don't even sorta belong here. Someone did me a favor by letting me stay here and I returned the favor by actually showing up. Self-loathing isn't the exact word for the string of confusion wringing my gut to extinction. It's the feeling of a lost chance. The epitome of why Walt Disney movies are seen as immature films for incorrigibly immature individuals. The anthem of broken people. The Cure was supposed to fix me and all of this…

But it didn't.


	4. Trendsetter, No Excuses, Ambassador

**TRENDSETTER.**

"First day! First day! First day of schoooool! I'm a junior! You wish you were me! Won't it be so cooool!"

Jubilee's singing probably woke up the entire house. I turned around and leaned against my dresser, watching her pull clothes from her closet and throw them over her shoulder…onto her unkempt bed. Piles of sunny yellows, shimmery golds, and ruby reds flattered her ruffled pillowed and tangled sheets.

"I wanted to wear a warm color today…something bold. I want to make an impression, ya know?" she confided in me.

Friendship…wow.

"Yeah, I know," I replied smoothly, grinning at her enthusiastic movements.

You would think once you became a junior in high school, you'd stop giving a damn about the way you looked. I had. Well, to be honest, I stopped caring about the way I looked the second day of high school. When you were a mutant, what you wore was the least of your problems, and back then, a lot of the kids were seen as so physically grotesque that they didn't even bother getting dressed up. And I didn't want to seem like that one mutant that was like, "Hey! Look at me! I'm normal and adorable and don't look like a freak and can wear whatever I want." And, looking back on it, no one really cared what you wore at that time. I didn't have any friends to compliment me on my style; I had no boys to impress. Crushes? Maybe. But would they look at me? Never. I wore jeans and t-shirts like that was the only thing I ever saw when I went to the mall. And then Jubilee came along, a total street rat, and prophesized to me the gospel of Macy's and JC Penny's….and now I do a_ little_ better.

Jubilee's voice shook me from my memories. "How's this?" she demanded from me. I studied her outfit: bright red skinny jeans, a burgundy crewneck, gold flats, matching hoop earrings (and an assortment of studs in her multiple other piercings), and about five necklaces.

She looked like she did every year…original.

…and ready to kick anyone's ass who tried to give a smart remark about it.

Even Wolverine, who had once called her outfits "repulsive", had gotten the most brutal verbal attack on fashion choice I had ever witnessed. Jubilee had named him "Fashion blunder of the year" and insisted his "tacky plaids" and "dastardly tunics" were just among the list of reasons why no one could bear to be around him. I could've even sworn that the next day, Wolverine had come out of his room looking slightly tidier with his hair just a bit more combed. I find it outrageously hilarious. Jubilee, who could dress so ridiculous at times, still could make an ex-mercenary walk around like a dog with his tail between his legs. But people still looked at her like she was a trendsetter.

And she was.

"I think you look absolutely brilliant," my lips quirked into a grin.

"Great!" she nodded resolutely, triumph lightening her features. "Now it's time for _you_"

My mouth turns dry. My legs a little numb. "I'd rather not."

"You never let me dress you!" she whined. She pouted her lips jokingly, looking just like the little ten-year-old we had found on the streets so long ago.

"That's because…" I searched for words, not wanting to hurt her feelings. As unfashionable as I could be sometimes, Jubilee always spared me her diatribes on personal style and never failed to lay down the law if anyone talked about me behind my back. To some degree, I think she sort of looked up to me to tell her when she was too over the top…even her top…which seemed endlessly high. "…we don't have the same idea of style"

Yes, that's it. Those are the right words. No harm done.

She pouted even the more so. "You said that last year. I'm never going to get to dress you. It's senior year for you, and you still won't let me give you a makeover…I guess my best friend just doesn't trust me," she crosses her arms and fakes a sniffle.

Ever the drama queen.

"Look," I sighed, running my fingers through my long bangs, "I…I'll let you style me up sometime this year. But just not the first day of school, alright? Plus, I need to dress for comfort. It's the first year since…well, Professor…dying…and everyone's gonna need some extra help around here. At least for the first week."

Her eyes, a lime green, burned holes into the floor as she nodded her head. When she came back up, her face looked decided. "You're right."

I smiled.

"Let me know if any of the teachers need some help, okay?"

"I will"

We beamed at each other. I don't need to be fashionable for Jubilee…

And that's what I like the most about her.

**NO EXCUSES.**

"Good morning" a deep voice greeted from the front of the room. "My name is Lucas Bishop and I'll be teaching you sociology this year."

The class responded silently, some sitting up, finding his thick tone authoritative and interesting…others were slouching in their desks, too tired to pay any attention to the hefty man in front of them. Kitty looked around to see who her classmates were. She only noticed a couple: Amara Aquilla, a girl in her advanced physics class with the ability to manipulate lava; Theresa Cassidy, a shy girl with the ability to emit a sonic scream; and, lastly, Jonothan Starsmore, a moody guy who had transferred here over the summer and became Kitty's fellow gaming partner in Super Mario 3. The guy could really play.

The rest were all students Kitty didn't know very well, or hadn't paid much attention to. She chastised herself a little for not knowing everyone in the classroom, she had been there for long enough, certainly. But the mansion was always changing, she noted. People came and went…some runaways, not knowing how to keep off their feet…some getting murdered or dying because of their mutation. There was always a big list of reasons why she could never keep up with the faces that sprang up around here.

"I see a couple of new faces," Bishop tossed over his shoulder, while writing his name on the board. Lucas Bishop went in and out of service, spending a couple months as a substitute teacher or medic, and then quickly returning back to his job as police officer in the heart of Manhattan. Though many of the kids here had had him as a substitute many times and preached of his refreshingly easygoing attitude, Kitty had only had him about twice since being here and that was mainly because she was always in advanced classes or electives that were generally "the road less traveled."

The burly man wore a black collared t-shirt with match pants and dress shoes. His biceps bulged tauntingly from his short sleeves and Kitty already noticed one girl in the corner gawking at him like she wanted to jump him. He was a good looking guy, Kitty admitted, but she could never think of Bishop as anything more than a friend and occasional confidante. He had been her best and only friend freshmen year and she had spent many lunches sitting with him in his classroom discussing forensic science.

Bishop leaned against his desk coolly, folding his arms and glaring at the classroom. "Does anybody wanna say something? Anybody?"

Silence.

"Come on, guys…I'm not that scary." He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. "If someone doesn't at least cough, I'm gonna do this the kindergarten way and make every one of you state your name, your gift, and what your hobbies are…I might even throw in a three paragraph essay on what you did this summer vacation…"

Hundreds of coughs littered the room.

Bishop chuckled to himself, "Okay, there we go…some responses. I know…first thing in the morning, right? Well, my name is Lucas Bishop. I have a job with the NYPD, but I used to go to school here. "

Silence.

"I have to admit, I didn't think very many of you would be interested in sociology…but seventeen students is a pretty good number, especially considering…" he looked at Kitty. Kitty shrugged helplessly. "the circumstances…"

Bishop hopped up from the desk and took an apple from his desk; he strolled across the front of the room tossing it up and down as if it were a baseball. "You'll find I'm not a very complicated teacher. I'm not super difficult…I'm not an ogre. I don't want you to fail. In fact, believe it or not, I want you all to succeed. And what else?"

He stopped and slammed his hands against the desk of a student who Kitty could only assume had fallen asleep. He jolted up and looked at Bishop's smirking features fearfully.

"I push you." Bishop announced to the class, eyeing the kid like he was on the breakfast menu. "Hard. I push you because I want you to succeed. And you're not gonna get anywhere in life taking naps. I know you'd like to think that because you're a mutant maybe you have a predisposition to fail…or you think everybody has it in for you? But you know what, people are here for you. They're here and they're everywhere you go, because I can assure you, no matter what, wherever you are…there is at least one human being, and yes that includes mutants, there is at least one human being who likes you and thinks you're a cool person and will want to 'hang out' with you. That's a fact. There are surveys to back it up."

He stops in front of his desk and gives Kitty a small grin from the corner of his eye. "You can do whatever you set your mind to…so as of today?"

Silence.

"No excuses."

**THE AMBASSADOR.**

"Well, this day has been absolutely tiring. Nothing incredible about it really…"

Hank bit his tongue, watching the interaction between Emma and Ororo, the most polar any opposites could get. Emma had spent the past fifteen minutes complaining about a couple of boys who had made lewd remarks about her cleavage and how her lunch break was full of "bumbling brats" who insisted on asking her where their next class was. Now, this was supposed to be her planning period, seeing as she was something of vice principal, but Emma was spending it in here, Ororo's office, doing the very best to drive the headmistress to drink.

To Hank's pleasure though, Ororo was too caught up in reviewing some paperwork to really focus on what Emma was saying. She would occasionally throw out a "Mhm, I see what you're saying," and "It'll get better, Emma," but not because she actually knew what the hell Emma was blathering on about, but rather she recognized the White Queen's frosty and unhappy tone.

"Ororo, what has you so engrossed? I mean, here I am, telling you precisely what needs to be fixed in your little academy, and you're over hear reading, what? A Harry Potter novel?"

"Ethics lesson plans…Charles classes…the one class I paid no attention to…"

"Honestly? That's a surprise," Emma barked out, but Hank noticed there was absolutely no sarcasm to her tone.

"Mhm…it's….intriguing….but….extremely complex" Ororo murmured, fumbling around, flipping four or five pages every now and again, skimming over something, and then turning back to the original page.

"But pray tell, Emma…what needs to be fixed in my 'little academy'"

Hank stiffened. As calm as Ororo could be, he could almost hear the icy resolve to kick Emma's ass if she crossed that invisible line Ororo had set up. He would have excused himself, left the two to their ever-childish bickering. But he knew that they both had quite the tongue and amount of pride and would likely rip each other limb from limb with their bare hands rather than yield once the right words had come about. And he had to stick around to play referee. He always did. Even back in high school, he sighed.

"You need better control on these rascals. They can't just come around saying whatever they want to me…or anyone else for that matter. They need discipline."

"That's what Logan is for," Ororo murmured, looking up at her, raising her eyebrow just the slightest bit.

"Oh, him? Him!" she judged, obviously unimpressed, "Bah! And what happens when he leaves again? Rides off on his little toy car and is never to be seen until seven or eight months later? And then what do we do in the meantime, Munroe? Twiddle our thumbs and let the hooligans run wild with their crude misconduct and tom-foolery?"

Hank sipped on his coffee, trying to lock eyes with Ororo and calm her down before the fire was lit. She knew his methods full well too…and would have none of it.

"Emma, I've asked you to come here and teach a couple of classes because, if I remember correctly, your own 'little academy' up in Massachusetts wasn't doing so hot and you were in need of a stable job. However, if you do not_"

The phone blared suddenly, interrupting Ororo in the process. Hank watched as Ororo eyed the defiant Emma for some good long seconds before picking up the phone.

"Xavier's School for the Gifted. This is Ororo Munroe speaking…."

"….."

"Oh yes, I-I heard about that. It's really…"

"…."

"No…yes, I….yes, I see what you mean and_"

"….."

"Yes, I actually have the paperwork right in front of me," Ororo slid the Ethics lesson plans aside and two folders, one blue and one red, lay on the desk. Ororo grimaced uncomfortably while listening to what Hank could only identify as rapid babbling.

Of course. Yes. Yes. Mhm"

"….."

"No, um…" she looked up at Hank, "there's plenty of room?" Hank nodded, answering her question.

"….."

"Well, we can have it ready as soon as possible,"

"….."

"I would advise against delaying, seeing as classes have already started. We don't want them to be behind."

"….."

"Okay, yes. We can pick them up from_"

"….."

"Oh, that's…convenient."

"….."

"Well, thank you. No, thank you, really." A fake chuckle on Ororo's part.

"….."

"Good bye, Ambassador."

"Who was that?" Emma demanded as soon as Ororo put the phone down. Ororo glared at Hank, eyes describing frustration, lips in a tight, unsatisfied line.

"What is it?" Hank asked, standing up from his leaning positing up against the nearby wall.

"It's Ambassador St. Croix."

"Oh God…"

"That's what I said." she sighed, setting her hands on the desk and shaking her head.

"Who's this man?" Emma asked again, getting noticeably perturbed at the fact that Hank and Ororo seemingly already knew this impending doom that was among them.

"He's an ambassador," Hank muttered unenthusiastically, "who is also extremely pompous and hard to be around."

"Hm," Emma grunted and inspected her nail beds, writing her boss and coworkers off as overreacting. "Aren't they all?"

"This one is especially unbearable, and no, they aren't all," Hank straightened defiantly, adjusting his jacket and doing a sniffle Ororo knew he only did when he felt offended. This time it was Hank's turn to ignore Ororo's calming stare. "I would expect you to know him, Emma, you being an unbearable entrepreneur yourself…or maybe you wouldn't know seeing as_"

"Oh, please, McCoy. You know I don't get involved with your overrated politics. I make business deals. I back up influential people. I make contracts with those who only promise to succeed in their line of work for the next couple of centuries. I do _not _play referee to you bombastic, hypocritical less-than-problemsolvers with your ridiculous monkey suits. I do no such thing."

"You're one to talk about overrated, with your latest_"

"HE IS," Ororo began, cutting off their squabbling authoritatively, "the Ambassador of Monaco. Cartier St. Croix."

"…" Emma rambled, twirling her eyes up in thought and leaning up against the edge of Ororo's desk. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

"Monet…?"

A flash of realization washed over Emma's face. "Oh, you've got to be kidding!"

"Oh, good, you recognize this feign." Hank replied, rolling his eyes at his coffee.

"Him? God, I can only imagine him…I'm thinking of the feign that is his daughter. I had her second period and who does that bitch think she is?"

"Emma, please…language…"

"Language? Ororo, admit it. You must've had that girl at some point in your career. She's the devil in disguise! There's nothing or nobody in this world that I can picture more as evil incarnate"

"I don't know about that, sweet cheeks. I generally think of you when I think of evil."

The three turned to find Betsy Braddock in her sleek pencil skirt and mile high pumps, standing in the doorway, "Am I late?"

"Just a little," Emma said dryly.

"Who are we talking about?" Betsy inquired, setting a white folder on Ororo's desk before plopping into the loveseat next to where Hank was standing and kicking off her shoes. Betsy pointed her toes admiringly and studied the red nail polish that was already beginning to peel. "Now who, in Emma's humble opinion, is evil incarnate?"

Ororo opened her mouth to speak, but Emma sliced through her unsaid words, "Monet St. Croix."

"Oh…" Betsy tsked, "Yeah, Cruella DeVil over here has a point…she isn't exactly my favorite either."

"I admit, she isn't the most…respectful…of students. But_"

"But nothing. That little girl is Evil Caneeval."

"Well, then you'll all be delighted to hear the news: her sisters Claudette and Nicole will be attending the school as of Thursday."

"What!" Betsy's outburst only emphasized the look that had crossed the others' faces.

"There's more! God, there's more than just Monet…" Emma shook her head and her features preached of evident distaste, "Well, then I resign…I resign, I resign, I resign."

Ororo scoffed and picked at the two folders in front of her absent-mindedly "Emma, you know they're not that bad."

"Not that bad? By what you and Hank have told me about their father and what I've experienced from his daughter, everyone in that family is just itching for a good bitchslap."

Betsy nodded and eyed her longtime friend, "Ororo, it's true."

"It's not my fault." Ororo shrugged, running her hand through snowy locks, "What am I supposed to say? Oh, yes, we do specialize in educating and training mutant children, but no, we can't accept your daughters because you've already sent one to us and the staff profusely hates her guts?"

"That's exactly what you were supposed to say," Betsy's rich accent demanded. "Now we're all going to have to pay."

"I really don't think they're too bad. They just need…discipline. Logan can handle that. And Emma, I'm sure you would put Monet in her place should the occasion ever rise."

Emma grunted.

"So why are they coming all of a sudden anyways? Don't they have the brochure? Don't they know registration ended a while ago?" Betsy leaned back in the loveseat and folded her arms beneath her chest.

"Yes, well…originally, Mister St. Croix and I were discussing a transfer next year. But, then…"

"Then what? The sky fell?" Betsy rolled her eyes bitterly.

"Tony Stark."

Emma grunted, "Ah. The world class jackass. That little stunt he pulled is all over youtube"

"What Stunt?" Betsy sat up a little in her seat, rejuvenated by this talk of America's "Iron Man".

Ororo shook her head and thumbed through the paperwork in the St. Croix files in front of her, pretendinto read whatever they said, "He caused that scene at the racetrack we were reviewing last week. I think you left before they released who it was, Betsy. Anyways, with the new threat to Homeland Security as well as the frenzy of the citizens, Monaco in a bad position. St. Croix is trying to settle the issues with the citizens and keep his little girls safe…" Ororo sounded exasperated. "He moved the date up. A year. He figured they'd be safer here."

Emma folded her arms and tapped her fingertips against her forearms. "So we just make room for them?"

"Like every other student we've ever done," Ororo consolidated, giving them all a look that clearly said 'Its settled'.

"I don't like this," Betsy announced in a sing song tone as glanced at the clock. She strapped her feet back into her designer shoes once more and pulled herself out of the cushiony depths of the couch.

Emma looked equally displeased.

Ororo noticed Hank was too kind to make any more of a discussion out of it.

The bell rang and the hallways were full of mutant children, slamming their locker doors and bustling to their next class. The sounds reverberated in her ears and reminded her that everything was bigger than the St. Croix kids. Everything was bigger now…

Now that Charles was gone.

…Today was going to be a long day.


End file.
